


Humidity

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 12:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16556081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: They’re on the road.





	Humidity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ulan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulan/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for Glorfindel-of-imladris’ “Glorfindel/Erestor, #8 (Desert)” request on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/179060905990/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The dry plains of Rhûn are a brutal landscape, and Asfaloth can only rush so far ahead before even he grows tired. Glorfindel squints through the blaring glow, bright even as evening falls, but he sees little markers to go by. Their map is clear right to the water, but the sea of Rhûn must still be days away. He’d hoped to plot a few more things, because surely no land could truly be so _empty_ , but thus far, he’s found nothing. 

At Asfaloth’s quiet whine, Glorfindel surrenders. The savannah’s worn him down, and he turns back, galloping to the peaks of the five tents he left behind. Elrohir and Elladan have secured the camp, a single guard stationed outside while the rest have retired. As soon as Glorfindel’s dismounted, Asfaloth trots to the bucket other elves have emptied water into. Glorfindel wishes him well and ducks inside the nearest tent.

There’s only one occupant. Erestor is on his knees towards the back, glancing up and over at Glorfindel’s entry, hazy eyes flickering with recognition. Erestor’s heavy robes have half been shed, sloping off his slender shoulders and pooling all around his folded legs. His bare chest is beating, rising high up and down with each laboured breath. His pale skin is slick with sweat, flushed all the way up to the tips of his ears, his black hair plastered about his forehead. He looks an utter _mess_ —a sharp contrast to his usually flawless visage. 

For a moment, Glorfindel’s stricken with the view, as he’s been every night since they set out across this wild land. As handsome as Erestor’s always been when meticulously dressed, he’s beautiful like this: completely undone and _raw_. He’s a wise, clever councilor, not built for hard rides across the desert. He’ll be needed when they reach their destination and treat with their distant cousins, should he survive the journey. A pang goes off in Glorfindel’s chest—he sweeps forward and murmurs, “Perhaps we should return...”

Erestor frowns up at him. Glorfindel comes to sit next to the half discarded pile of Erestor’s robes, resisting the immense urge to tug them away completely. Erestor insists, “I am strong enough for this—I am simply unpracticed. You must... give me a few nights to adjust.” 

Surely, even he doesn’t believe that. But Glorfindel loves his partner enough to nod and hope. He knows that Erestor _is_ strong, even if he hasn’t held a sword in centuries. He’s unaccustomed to life on the road, to hugely divergent climates and green-less scenery. But he’ll adjust, Glorfindel thinks, given proper care and time.

At least the heat will settle soon. The sweltering day will give way to a cool and gentle night, and all of them will rest up for tomorrow. Heedless of this, Erestor says, “I am ready to continue.”

Glorfindel smiles. He can’t help himself—he’s impressed with Erestor’s bravery and determination. But as the leader of their party, he tells Erestor, “We will ride no further today. Save your strength for tomorrow—I have already gone some ways ahead, and it gets no prettier there.”

Erestor sighs, but his face doesn’t show much of the disappointment he must feel. He only nods in acceptance and murmurs, “Very well.”

Pleased, Glorfindel leans over, and he presses a lingering kiss to Erestor’s cheek. When he tries to divert to Erestor’s mouth, Erestor leans away and groans, “No, please—I do not think I could stand the heat of your body now, as much as I would love it any other time.”

Glorfindel pouts, but he does understand. Erestor puts a hand on his shoulder and leans forward onto him but gets no more forward than that. Glorfindel supposes he can wait. He keeps his next kiss to Erestor’s forehead and suggests, “I will fetch our bedrolls. But I suggest you not squirm much against me throughout the night—I want you badly enough as it is.”

Erestor snorts. Glorfindel prepares their tent and still enjoys the trip, luxuriating in the company.


End file.
